


Like a Rock Ballad

by thistidalwave



Series: Tongue Tied [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thistidalwave/pseuds/thistidalwave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uni AU. In which there is inexplicable British frat culture, Nick has a radio show, Harry sings, Liam is a swimmer, Louis mopes around campus, Niall and Zayn are frequently confused, and everybody has a lot of feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Rock Ballad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amadeuplove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amadeuplove/gifts).



> Written for my lovely [amadeuplove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amadeuplove), because it’s her birthday! 
> 
> Britpicked by ifonlyella, who is brilliant and lovely, and therefore any remaining mistakes are my own. I’d like to apologize to anyone thrown off by the inclusion of frats--since this is a birthday present, I had to do what Becca ordered me to do to make her happy, and, in her own words, “DICK LIAM CAN'T BE DICK LIAM WITHOUT BEING IN A FRAT. that's why he doesn't exist in the world as a dick, because he's from a place where frats do not exist.” And Becca _loves_ it when Liam is a dick, because she makes no sense and somehow does not see a puppy when she looks at Liam Payne’s face. Love you, Becca. xx

i | _you should have seen by the look in my eyes, baby, there was something missing_

 

Nick is leaning sideways against the vending machine outside the student radio station, half-heartedly trying to decide what he wants to drink using the smallest amount of brain power possible, when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye and looks up to see an impressively fit bloke walking down the corridor toward him.

Nick watches as he approaches, struck a little dumb--he’s like a rock ballad, Nick thinks, crooning and inviting in the soft curls of his hair with sharp bass lines underneath where his jeans cling to his legs. He’s passing right by Nick, and Nick somehow finds himself saying “Looking good, there,” and he did _not_ give his mouth permission to say that, what the _fuck_. He throws a wry grin after it in an attempt to not come off as a total creep. (Fuck, there’s really nothing for this, he’s totally a creep.)

He pauses at Nick’s words, looking over at him in surprise, and then he smirks and Nick is now one hundred percent sure that he’s made a horrible mistake. He never wanted that smirk directed at him--it’s the hard hitting drop of the song that takes your breath away, and he’s not sure he remembers how to move anymore. It’s a problem, because he needs to go do actual work some time today.

“Hey,” the guy says, nodding a bit, and then he continues on his way like nothing happened. Nick takes a moment to admire his arse, another moment to question his life choices, and another to remember what he came out to the hallway for in the first place.

-

Nick has mostly forgotten about the entire incident (or, well, shut up, he’s pretending he’s forgotten rather than spent every night for the last week lying in bed obsessing over how utterly stupid and creepy he is) by the time he sees the guy again.

There’s a first year broadcasting student they’d ended up hiring on at the radio station after he’d approached Nick at the beginning of the school year to ask if he could be featured on Nick’s show as the monthly live artist. His name is Niall, he’s a Tau Kappa Epsilon pledge who talks about his roommate a bit too much, in Nick’s opinion, for it to be totally platonic, and he plays guitar and sings as a hobby. 

Ever since Niall had asked Nick if he would come see him at the open mic night at a pub just off the university campus to vet whether he was a good fit for the feature, they’d struck up a friendship that mostly consisted of texting each other every so often and throwing pens at each other instead of doing actual radio station work whenever they were both there, and Niall insisted Nick come along to open mic night every time he performed because he “trusted Nick’s opinion and needed his feedback.”

Which is all well and good in theory, but now that Nick’s sitting on a barstool trying to use Niall’s roommate as a shield between him and Bloke With The Hair while Niall makes friends with what seems like every single person in the room, he’s starting to rethink the whole giving out advice thing. He thinks that maybe he’ll just stop talking to people at all--stay inside his flat, sit at the back of all his classes, only speak while on air. That should head off anymore epic mistakes.

“You look a bit on edge,” Niall’s roommate says, and fuck, why can’t Nick remember his name? Niall had definitely said it enough times. “You got somewhere to be?”

“I, uh.” Nick makes a show of looking at the time on his phone. “I do this radio show? I just don’t want to be late or anything.”

“Right, Niall told me about that. What time?”

“Ten,” Nick says.

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s quarter past eight.”

Seriously. Nick needs to never talk again. “I’m paranoid,” he says, and tries to look busy drinking his water. Niall’s roommate-- _Zayn_ pops into Nick’s head, his name is _Zayn_ , yeah, that’s right, Nick has an awesome memory--just looks amused.

Nick catches another glimpse of Bloke With The Hair standing by the stage talking to the announcer. He looks over toward the bar, and Nick hunches down, leaning a bit toward Zayn. 

Niall pops up behind Zayn, hanging his arm over one shoulder and propping his chin on the other one. “You look like you’re hiding from someone, Nick,” he says.

Nick splutters. “I--no! I’m not.”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “Okay. I’m up second, after that one.” He gestures toward the stage, where Bloke With The Hair is standing, fiddling with the microphone stand. Nick takes this opportunity to finish the rest of his glass of water and wonder what he did wrong to deserve this. It’s just--he’s so good looking, and he looks totally comfortable on stage, and Nick is a sucker for boys who appreciate music, and has he mentioned his hair? Nick wants to touch it. A lot. 

“Testing--Hello? All right, settle down. This here is Harry Styles, and he’s going to kick off tonight’s open mic,” the announcer says. He hands the mic off to Harry, who waves, and Nick has a moment to consider and be horrified by the idea that maybe Harry is one of those people that thinks they can sing when they really actually can’t, and then backing track music cuts in and Harry opens his mouth and--oh.

He’s not one of those people that thinks they can sing when they really actually can’t. He’s one of those people that can sing really, really well, and also have magnificent stage presence, and on top of that they’re _really attractive_. Nick wants to die. This was too much for him to handle when Harry looked like a rock ballad personified, he’s really not sure how he’s supposed to deal with him actually singing one, voice smooth and dark spilling into the microphone and filling the room.

Niall whistles under his breath. “Shit, I have to follow this? Is it too late to back out?”

“Shhh,” Nick and Zayn say simultaneously. 

“You’ll be great,” Zayn continues. Niall flashes him a grateful grin. 

Harry finishes his song to a healthy amount of applause and more than a few catcalls from the crowd. Nick finds himself on his feet clapping--and catching Harry’s eye, apparently, because he could swear Harry is looking straight at him when he says thank you into the mic. Nick tries to remember how to breathe when someone that good looking is looking at you. He must know how; it must have happened before.

Well. Maybe not.

He sits back down self-consciously. Zayn is looking at him funny. ”You know him?”

“I--no,” Nick says.

Zayn’s look turns more speculative. “But you’d like to?”

Nick doesn’t even have a response for that. “Oh, look, Niall’s on stage,” he says instead, and Zayn turns to shoot Niall a double thumbs up, grinning. Niall visibly relaxes, his shoulders dropping and his grip on his guitar becoming less white knuckled. 

He leans into the microphone. “Hi there, I’m Niall, and this is a song I wrote myself.” He fiddles with the guitar strings nervously for a moment, fingers flitting across the frets, and then reaches up to spin his cap so that it’s on backwards before strumming the first few chords.

Niall doesn’t look like he belongs on the stage like Harry does, his jeans ripped in what Nick thinks is probably supposed to be an artful manner and the sleeves of his white button up slowly unrolling from where he’s pushed them up by his elbows, but when he sings it’s clear he’s having the time of his life. He’s pretty good, really, especially since it’s a song he wrote himself, and Nick thinks he would be pretty wowed at how much Niall’s improved even in the short time Nick’s known him if he hadn’t just heard Harry fucking Styles sing. His brain is still trying to wrap itself around that whole... thing.

Fifteen or so minutes later, Nick’s still not got a grasp on it, and Niall decides to not help the situation at all by befriending Harry and then dragging him over to meet Zayn and Nick. Presented with Harry’s hand to shake, it takes a moment of staring before Nick even remembers what he’s supposed to do with it. Harry laughs at him, a soft amused noise that makes Nick’s chest squish up a bit.

“Nice to, uh, actually meet you,” Nick manages to say. 

“Likewise,” Harry replies, and fucking hell, did he just fucking _wink_? 

“Nick here is on student radio,” Niall says. “His show does a monthly in studio live musician feature and I think you should be on it, Harry.”

Nick does not recall giving Niall permission to ask people to be on the show. He’s not even sure what’s happening around him anymore.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, sounding interested. He leans against the bar top and quirks an eyebrow in Nick’s direction. “That true?”

“Uh--” Nick glances from Niall to Zayn to Harry and back to Zayn again, who’s looking at him from behind Harry’s back with wide eyes that Nick is sure would be a hell of a lot more meaningful if he’d actually known Zayn for longer than three quarters of an hour or whatever. If he had to guess, though, he’s pretty sure it means something like _what are you hesitating for this is your chance get in on that shit_. “Yeah. Yeah, it’d be really cool if you had the time or whatever.”

Harry nods. “I think I could find the time to fit you in.” He’s smirking again.

“Great, that’s great,” Nick says, trying his hardest to sound casual and not think dirty things. 

“I’ll give you my number, yeah? We can meet up sometime to talk about it.”

“Sure.” Nick fumbles his phone out of his pocket and brings up the new contact screen before handing it to Harry. He accepts Harry’s in return and checks that he’s put in the right number approximately five times before he feels safe enough to hand it back to him. 

“Brilliant,” Niall says. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, who’s up for drinks?”

Both Zayn and Harry readily agree, but Nick shakes his head. “I’ve got to go--prep for the show and whatnot. Raincheck?”

“Sure thing, mate.” Zayn claps him on the shoulder. 

“You were great, Niall,” Nick remembers to say. “Uh, you too, Harry.”

“Thanks for coming, Nick,” Niall says. Harry smiles and wiggles his fingers in an approximation of a wave. 

Nick spends the entire walk back to the student radio station staring at Harry’s number in his contacts and struggling not to scream.

-

Louis wakes up because something large and warm has crawled onto him and is poking at his cheekbone. He opens his eyes, squinting against the mid-afternoon light streaming through the blinds, and is not surprised in the least to find that the something in question is Harry.

“Jesus, Haz,” Louis mumbles, shoving Harry off him and sitting up. “What time is it?” 

“‘Bout half past three,” Harry says cheerfully. “I’ve just got back from my lecture. Wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

“I’m skipping today’s afternoon class,” Louis says. “It seems irrelevant to anything I’ve ever cared about. I was _trying_ to nap before I got started on my homework, but apparently you’ve decided I’m not allowed to do that.”

Harry shrugs. “You could still do that.”

Louis sighs. “You’d pout at me now, I can tell. What’s got you all cheerful?”

He grins even wider, if that’s possible, and reaches to grab Louis’s phone off his desk and toss it at him. “Check your messages.”

Louis looks at Harry calculatingly for moment, then does as he asks. He’s only got one new text, from Niall, inviting him to a party at the TKE house on Thursday night. Louis raises an eyebrow at Harry.

“It’s a mass text, see, I’ve got the same one,” Harry explains, waving his phone in front of Louis’s face too fast for him to even properly see. 

“I take it this party is very exciting?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “If Niall texted everyone he knows, and you know he did, that means he’s invited Nick.”

“Oh, _Nick_ ,” Louis says. He’s heard way too much about Nick and his apparently fascinating hair and everything else in the past three weeks. Sometimes he longs for the time before he and Harry had really gotten to know each other and had stuck to their own sides of the room, awkwardly poking at their electronics. (Of course, that time had only been a few hours long, but Louis likes to imagine that his life would be so much _quieter_ if neither of them had made the effort to be friends. Then again, having Harry with him had made pledge week a lot more bearable. He probably would have given up without him there.) “How do you know he’ll be there, though?”

“Because I may have texted Niall back and asked,” Harry says. 

Louis laughs, because that is so Harry. 

“You have to come, Louis.” Harry glares at Louis. He looks like a puppy trying very hard to be menacing, and Louis stifles more laughter. “I need you to be supportive. And besides, this is supposed to be the party of the year. I bet you could find someone, too, see, so there’s really no reason to tell me no. I refuse to take it for answer.”

“Relax, Harry, I wasn’t even going to say no,” Louis says. “I like parties, and besides, if I have to listen to you ramble on about Nick, I _would_ like to meet him, you know. Make sure he’s good enough for you and all that.”

Harry snorts and punches Louis’s shoulder. “Look at you, acting like you’re my big brother when you’ve only known me for a month. Adorable.”

“Shut it,” Louis says, retaliating by dragging Harry into a headlock and messing up his hair. Harry lets out a shriek of protest and, in the ensuing tickle fight, Louis has just enough time to think that his life would also be a lot more boring if they’d never become friends.

 

ii | _take off your cool, then lose control_

 

“A tenner says I can get more numbers than you tonight,” Zayn says into Liam’s ear casually, poking him in the ribs. 

Liam snorts and switches the hand he’s holding his beer in so he can fistbump Zayn. “You’re on.”

The party is already well underway--the frat house is packed and the walls are vibrating with the sounds of loud pop dance music. It’s not yet reached the point where shit is getting smashed and people are practically fucking in the corners, but Zayn can tell it’s going to be that kind of party. Niall has a gift for throwing those. 

“Hey!” Niall yells, popping up in front of Zayn. He’s wearing sunglasses and looks thoroughly plastered. “Good party, yeah?”

Zayn smiles involuntarily. “Yeah, Niall, you’re a talent, you know it. You’ve even attracted girls dressed as sexy bunny rabbits.”

“Hell yeah,” Niall says. “It’s not even supposed to be fancy dress, I’m pretty sure those’ve all come from Delta Chi, because fuck knows they don’t know how to party over there. Can’t say I’m complaining, myself.” He leers at a passing girl in an obscenely short skirt and manages to trip over Zayn’s feet trying to follow after her. Zayn steadies him and tugs his sunglasses off his face, sliding them into his hair instead.

“There, now you’re a bit less of a hazard.”

“Thanks, Zayners,” Niall says, patting Zayn on the cheek before heading off in the direction the hot girl went.

“I’m winning,” Liam says from Zayn’s other side, making him jump in surprise. He waves a piece of paper with numbers printed in rounded script on it in Zayn’s face. 

Zayn scoffs. “The night is young, Payne. The night is young. And I need more alcohol.”

-

Louis is very drunk. He knows this because he doesn’t know where Harry is, but he isn’t actually all that bothered by that. Also, there is a _very_ sexy lad over there chatting up a redhead, and Louis wants that in his bed. Now, preferably. He always has a lot more gay thoughts when drunk, so there’s another tick in that particular checklist. 

He also has this issue with impulse control, which is probably how he finds himself sidling over to the sexy lad and leaning against his side, blurting out a cheerful “Hi there!”

The redhead widens her eyes. “Er--I’m gonna go,” she says, and practically vanishes, she’s so quick. Louis wonders idly if maybe she’s some sort of witch.

The sexy lad huffs in frustration. “Thanks, mate, I was almost in there.”

“No problem,” Louis says, grinning and rubbing his cheek against his shoulder a bit. It’s a nice shoulder. “My name’s Louis.”

“Liam,” he says, looking at Louis calculatingly. Louis flushes under his scrutiny and tries to hide his blush and escape Liam’s gaze by nuzzling his face into Liam’s neck. It’s a nice neck. Liam has a nice everything, Louis thinks. It’s hardly fair and seems like too good of a thing to be true. Louis clearly needs to do a thorough investigation, which is why his next step is to shove his hand under Liam’s shirt.

Nice abs, too. Damn. 

It occurs to Louis that Liam is going along surprisingly well with the whole being felt up by a stranger thing. He’s not sure how long that’s going to last; Liam could be in shock or something. Louis pulls back to look at Liam’s face, which doesn’t _seem_ particularly shocked. In fact, Liam is smiling a bit. It’s-- a nice smile.

“You’ve a nice everything,” Louis tells Liam.

Liam laughs. “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.” He wraps his arm around Louis’s waist and tucks his hand into the back pocket of Louis’s jeans. Louis is pretty sure he likes where this is going, so he leans in and presses his lips to Liam’s. Liam seems taken off guard for a moment before he takes charge of the kiss, pulling Louis closer and licking into his mouth. Louis slides his hand around to Liam’s back and tangles the other one in Liam’s hair, letting out a whimper when Liam digs his teeth into Louis’s bottom lip before pulling away. 

Louis feels light headed and more than a little slap happy. He thinks he might have just giggled a bit. “We, uh, we should go somewhere,” Louis says. Liam looks thoughtful again, and Louis presses another kiss to his lips. “Come on.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Liam agrees. “My room’s upstairs. This way.” He disentangles them before grabbing Louis’s hand and tugging him toward the stairs. Louis thinks that this very drunk thing is definitely paying off. The hangover he’s going to have tomorrow already seems worth it.

-

Nick has mostly given up on seeing Harry at this party at any point, which is disappointing, because he wouldn’t be caught dead at a frat party for any other reason. He hates fraternities on principle, really; they’ve always seemed contrived and stupid and full of excuses to blast bad pop music and drink, and he’s questioned his sanity in fancying someone who thought it was a good idea to pledge to one of these things on more than one occasion since learning that Harry is an Alpha Sigma Phi pledge. But he’s also stupidly attractive, so Nick’s going to say that makes it okay.

He’s trying to push his way through the crowd so he can get out the fucking door and get some much needed actually breathable air into his lungs when he trips (just lovely, who the fuck put that side table there, that doesn’t even make sense) and falls into none other than Zayn, accompanied by a half dead looking Harry leaning over his shoulder. 

“Whoa, hello,” Nick says. 

Zayn sighs. “Hey,” he replies, and looks as if he’s going to say something else before Harry comes alive with a loud “Nick!” and disentangles himself from Zayn to relocate to hanging off Nick. “You’re so awesome, Nick,” Harry says, looking up at him with pupils blown wide. “I thought you weren’t gonna show up.”

“I had my show first, but I’ve been here a good hour,” Nick replies, trying to soothingly stroke Harry’s curls. His hair is just as soft as Nick thought it would be, but he’s totally not thinking about that right now.

“Sorry,” Zayn says. “I was trying to help him back to his room.”

Nick nods. “That’s all right, I can take over. I was thinking about leaving, anyway.”

“You sure?” Zayn asks skeptically.

Nick assures Zayn it’s fine and gets directions to Alpha Sig. They make it outside before Harry says anything else, and even then it’s just a mumbled phrase muffled by Nick’s sweater. He’s cooperative, at least, letting Nick drag him along with obedient shuffling feet, and Nick thanks his lucky stars for small favours. 

“We’ll walk back to your frat, yeah? You need to sober up some anyway.” 

Harry makes a noise that Nick chooses to interpret as agreement and leans his head on Nick’s shoulder. 

“S’cold,” he says after a while. Nick automatically rubs at Harry’s side in an attempt to warm him up.

“Yeah, that’s late October for you,” Nick agrees. “Almost there, though. We’ll get you in a warm bed.”

“Nice,” Harry mumbles.

Five minutes and a brief freak out where Nick thought Harry didn’t have his key and was therefore locked out of his room later, Nick is standing awkwardly in the middle of Harry’s room while Harry clumsily strips off all his clothes--save his pants, thank fuck, Nick’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to handle that--and crawls into bed. 

“You good?” Nick asks. “You need water or anything?”

Harry shakes his head. “C’mere.”

“What?”

Harry gestures insistently for Nick to come closer, and when he’s within arm’s reach, grabs onto his sweater and pulls, making him trip over his own feet and land on his knees in the bed. “Cuddle with me,” Harry demands, and Nick’s about to say no, he should get going, when Harry adds on “please”, looking absolutely pitiful, and Nick no longer has any choice but to kick off his shoes and do as Harry says. 

“This good?” Nick asks, slinging an arm over Harry and trying to ignore that he’s now pretty much spooning with Harry Styles. Harry makes a noise that is definitely affirmative and cuddles into the pillow. Nick can smell Harry’s shampoo, faint now under the smell of smoke and booze, something that’s maybe flowery or citrusy, he really has no idea other than it smells wonderful and he continues to be a moderately creepy person.

Then again, if being a moderately creepy person is going to continue to allow him to even just platonically cuddle with the perfect human specimen that is Harry, Nick thinks he’s okay with that.

-

“Can I fuck you?” Liam asks, lips hovering just over Louis’s, his hand moving slowly up Louis’s thigh, and Louis’s breath hitches at the thought. It’s farther than he’s ever gone with another guy, the most he’s done before being fumbled handjobs and, once, a rather disastrous blowjob. Liam has this way about him, though, that makes Louis want to let him take control and do whatever he wants, starting from when he pushed Louis down on the bed in his room and started stripping them both off between kisses and muttered comments about how gorgeous Louis looked all laid out for Liam. 

Liam definitely doesn’t have any compunctions about hurting Louis, the redness around his wrists from where Liam held him down a testament to that, but he also touches Louis as if he’s something to be revered, like now, with his fingertips dragging lightly over the skin of his thigh, his eyes studying Louis carefully, and that, more than anything else, is why Louis rolls his hips up against Liam’s and says “Please, yes, come on.”

Liam grins and reaches over to get a bottle of lube and a condom out of his bedside table, dropping the condom next to Louis on the bed and uncapping the lube to pour a generous amount over his fingers. He reaches down, and Louis tenses up at the first touch of his index finger--it’s fucking _cold_ \--before forcing himself to relax and let Liam work his finger in. 

“Good, yeah, just like that,” Liam says, the thumb of his other hand stroking soothingly along Louis’s cheekbone. “Relax, babe, you’re so tight. Let me work you open for my cock, yeah?” He adds another finger, making Louis choke out a strangled moan. The stretch is a bit weird, but Liam fucks his fingers into Louis slowly at first, drawing it out until Louis has forgotten all about how strange it is and is squirming into it, and then he speeds up. Louis groans and tries to grab onto Liam, his fingers sliding against Liam’s back. “You like that?” Liam asks, smirking. “You want more? You gotta ask for it if you do, come on.”

“More, yeah. Liam, please.” Louis moans, and Liam obliges, pushing a third finger in. Louis loses his breath for a moment, and then Liam kisses him, biting at Louis’s top lip as he works his fingers inside Louis, stretching him out. Louis’s world narrows down to the feel of Liam’s fingers pressing into him, the warmth of Liam all along his side, the way Liam keeps nipping along his jawline, and he suddenly wants nothing more than for Liam to fuck him _now_.

“Liam,” Louis mumbles, “Liam, I need-- I need you to--”

“Shhh,” Liam says, and pulls his fingers out. Louis makes a noise of protest before he fully realises that Liam is just getting the condom, ripping open the foil with his teeth, and Louis watches through half lidded eyes as Liam rolls it onto himself. 

“You ready for me to fuck you?” Liam asks as he slicks up with lube. Louis bites his lip and nods. “Don’t worry, babe, I’m gonna make it so good for you. You’re gonna be screaming for my cock.” He moves to line himself up and leans in to capture Louis’s lips with his own, sucking on his bottom lip, and then he pushes in and Louis gasps against his mouth, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“Fuck-- yeah,” Louis breathes out and feels Liam shudder against him, his hands spread across Louis’s chest and fingers digging into his ribs. “Come on.”

Liam finally-- _finally_ \--starts to move, long drawn out pulls out before he pushes back in again, making Louis moan and drag scratches across Liam’s back with his fingernails. 

“You-- _fuck_ \--you want more of my cock? You want me to fuck you harder?”

“Yes, Liam, fuck, please, fuck me,” Louis begs. Liam grabs under Louis’s knee and spreads him wider, slamming into him again. Louis groans and reaches for his dick, stroking it in time with Liam’s thrusts.

“God, that’s so hot,” Liam chokes out. “Yeah, touch yourself. Are you going to come for me, Louis? Come on, let me see it.”

Louis speeds up his hand and scrunches his eyes closed before he comes, streaking both his and Liam’s chests with it. He opens his eyes again just in time to see Liam lose it as well, buried deep in Louis’s ass, moaning out a “Yeah, _fuck_.” Liam manages to keep himself steady for a moment after before he pulls out and flops down against Louis’s chest.

“That was fucking great,” Liam mumbles into Louis’s neck. Louis giggles a bit, his mind still registering everything as sweet and fuzzy around the edges. “We should probably clean up.”

“Mmmm,” Louis agrees.

“In a minute,” Liam decides, and Louis can’t find it in himself to bother arguing with that.

 

iii | _you’re a star in the face of the sky_

 

Nick jerks awake to the familiar sound of his phone’s alarm and nearly falls out of the bed fumbling to get his phone out of his pocket and shut it off. ‘ _Get the fuck out of bed, class in two hours!’_ glares at him from underneath the clock with the hands pointing to half eight. He groans and flops back onto the pillow. Beside him, Harry makes a snuffling noise and pulls the blankets closer to him. 

Oh, that’s right. He’s in Harry’s bed.

The realization makes Nick immediately panic and roll out of the bed, landing on his feet less than gracefully and standing to stare down at Harry, who continues on sleeping, unbothered. His hair is flopped every which way over the pillow, some hanging down over his eyes, and he honestly looks like a tiny fluffy kitten or something. It’s really too much for Nick to handle this early in the morning. No one should be that fucking adorable.

Nick knows logically that he needs to go back to his flat and have a shower and change clothes before he goes to his lecture, but tiny fluffy kittens demand cuddling, and he desperately wants to fuck logic and crawl back into bed with Harry. He wavers for a moment before resolutely turning away from Harry and finding a blank piece of paper on his desk, scrawling a quick note across it. He places it on the bedside table, and, after a moment of consideration, goes off to find Harry a glass of water and some paracetamol to leave on top of the note.

_Harry --_

_Sorry to leave you! Have a morning lecture to get to and didn’t want to wake you up. Text me that you’re still alive, okay?_

_Nick_

-

When Louis wakes up, Liam is already sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed in sweats and a t-shirt and holding two mugs.

“Tea?” Louis mumbles, rubbing at his eyes and blinking sleepily at Liam, who smiles.

“Tea,” Liam confirms, holding out one of the mugs. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone’s taken a sledgehammer to my skull and dumped me in the desert,” Louis says, sitting up and taking the tea from Liam. Liam laughs, and it’s cute, even if it irritates Louis’s headache.

“You were pretty drunk last night, I think,” Liam says. He’s doing that thing where he looks at Louis like he’s trying to figure something out, and Louis really needs to stop finding that so hot. 

Louis shrugs, sipping at his tea. It’s not perfect, definitely too sweet, but Louis can deal. “It was worth it,” he says. “Had a great time. Great... party.”

Liam is smirking now. Louis can’t decide whether that’s hotter than the calculating look or not, but he’s leaning toward yes. “Yeah?” Liam asks.

“Yeah.”

“Cool. You want breakfast? The kitchen isn’t a total disaster, by which I mean I already cleaned it up a bit, and I can make eggs and... eggs.”

Louis snorts. “Eggs sound good.”

“Okay,” Liam says, standing. “I’ll go get that started and let you get dressed.”

Louis waits until Liam’s closed the door behind him to set his tea on the bedside table and get out of the bed, stretching his arms above his head and standing on his toes to stretch out his muscles before scanning the floor for his clothes. He’s momentarily confused when they’re not there before he spots them stacked on Liam’s desk chair--not folded neatly or anything, just picked up and put together. Louis decides, as he pulls the clothes on, that he likes the kind of person that makes Liam out to be. Also, Louis may need to reconsider the whole skinny jeans thing, because they are way too hard to get on when jumping up and down hurts his head like fuck.

He grabs his tea and heads downstairs, thankfully accurately remembering where the kitchen is located and finding Liam staring into a frying pan. Louis sits down on a stool by the island and watches Liam, idly wishing there was a way to take sugar out of tea once you’ve already put it in. 

“All right, there?” Liam asks, turning to look at Louis. “These are about done, just another minute.”

Louis nods, and a couple very short minutes later, Liam is pushing a plate of fried eggs across the island to Louis and sitting down on the adjacent side to him with his own.

They eat in silence, and it’s a bit awkward, but it could definitely be a lot _more_ awkward than it is. Also, the morning in general could have done with some additional sex and/or cuddles and also better tea, while Louis is complaining about things in his head, but he’s not too terribly bothered.

“Thanks,” Louis says when he’s finished his eggs. “Should I, uh--” He gestures from his plate to the sink, and Liam nods. 

“You going to be all right to get back to your hall or whatever?” Liam asks as Louis puts his plate and mug into the sink.

Louis is taken aback for a moment, then shrugs it off. “Yeah, I feel less like I’m dying than I did before. It’s not far to walk, Alpha Sig is pretty much just down the way.”

“Okay, good. See you around?” 

Louis pats at the pockets of his jeans to make sure his mobile and keys are still there. “Yeah, uh. You want to exchange numbers or something so that we can hang out sometime?” Louis asks, because he’s pretty sure he genuinely likes Liam and wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. And also having more really fucking awesome sex, but that’s not the (whole) point.

Liam looks a bit shocked for a second before his expression turns to--what is that supposed to be, pity? Why is he-- “No, that’s all right,” Liam says, and Louis’s heart sinks. Okay, then. This officially couldn’t get any more awkward.

“Right. Uh, bye, then.”

“Bye, Louis,” Liam says, still looking at him all sadly, and Louis pretty much runs for the door.

Louis is pretty sure he’s never been so devastatingly disappointed in his life. It’s fucking cold outside and he’s only wearing a long sleeved cotton shirt and he’s sorely tempted to just lie down on the side of the road and give up, except it would probably be a lot more comfortable to get back to his room and give up whilst lying in his bed. Fuck Liam, really. His loss if he doesn’t want Louis’s number. He has shit taste in tea; Louis didn’t want to date him anyway.

Except how he totally did. 

Fuck.

-

“I think you owe me money,” Zayn tells Liam when he walks into the living room and flops down on the couch. Niall and Zayn are sitting on the floor playing FIFA. Niall is winning, but Zayn is pretty sure he’s going to make a comeback any second now.

“Oh yeah?” Liam asks, his voice muffled by one of the couch pillows.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, hitting buttons on his controller way harder than necessary and getting less than satisfactory results. “I got five numbers Friday night. And how many did you get?”

“Uh--three,” Liam mumbles.

“See? I won the bet. You owe me money.”

“Liam also had what I’m sure was very hot sex with Louis,” Niall says. “What was your tail to phone number ratio, Zayn?”

“Be quiet, Niall, that wasn’t a factor.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Niall drawls out. “Zero for five, innit, Zayn? Also, I’ve just won.”

Zayn curses and throws down his controller while Niall laughs at him. “Fuck off, mate. Not like I had anywhere to take someone I wanted to sleep with, is it? You were taking up our room all night.”

Niall abruptly stops laughing and avoids eye contact with Zayn. Zayn frowns. “Yeah, who says that’s a bad thing?” Niall mutters. 

“Uh, no one?” Zayn says, confused. “Are you all right, Nialler? Did I hit some sort of nerve?”

“No,” Niall says quickly. “I’m fine. You wanna play again? I’ll go easy if you let Liam off the money.”

“Fine, okay,” Zayn agrees, picking the controller back up. “You hear that, Liam?”

“Mhm,” Liam says into his pillow.

“Think he’s about asleep,” Niall says. “Must still be tired. That’s some _really_ good sex, if so. I mean, it’s been pretty much two days at this point.”

“Why are you so obsessed with how good of sex Liam has?” Zayn asks, scrolling through the game options and trying to select ones that are actually going to result in him winning this time.

“I’m not _obsessed_ ,” Niall protests. Zayn side eyes him. He totally is. Just like Zayn is totally going to win this time.

-

Louis is never leaving his bed again. He’s pretty much lasted since Saturday morning and it’s late Sunday afternoon now, so he’s sure he’s capable of just continuing. Who needs the outside world, anyway? It’s full of assholes. There’s nothing out there for Louis. 

“I don’t think you’ve moved since I left earlier,” Harry says. Louis pulls down his duvet from over his face to glare at Harry.

“I haven’t,” Louis confirms. “There’s no reason for me to go on.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Shove over,” he says, pushing at Louis so he can crawl into the bed. “Cosy. I’ve been letting you be, but do you want to tell me what the fuck’s got you all upset?”

“Where did you go?” Louis asks, because no, he does not want to talk about it.

“Been texting with Nick since yesterday and basically invited myself over to his flat to hang out and watch the Food Network. It was good fun, but there could have been more snogging involved, if you ask me.”

Louis thinks about laughing at that, because it seems amusing and ironic, but can’t bring himself to actually do so. Harry sighs. “Louis, tell me why you’re acting like a five year old who lost their favourite plushie.”

Louis groans and buries his face in Harry’s neck. “I don’t want to.”

“Too bad,” Harry says. Louis sighs.

“I had sex with this guy at the party on Friday night and he was really great and he seemed really nice and then when I asked for his number Saturday morning he told me no and he’s an asshole.” Louis cracks an eye open to gauge Harry’s reaction. It’s pretty gratifying, actually--Harry looks pissed off.

“Who was this?”

“Dunno,” Louis says. “He’s from TKE. His name’s Liam.”

“Liam Payne?” Harry asks. 

“Dunno,” he repeats. “Um, brown hair, built, tall, I guess.”

Louis is pretty sure he can hear Harry grinding his teeth. “Yeah, sounds like him. Why would he say no when you offered your number?”

“Because he hates me and thinks I’m a terrible shag,” Louis says. “Why else.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “There’s no way anyone could hate you, and I’m pretty sure you’re not a terrible shag. And--”

“How would you know!”

“And Liam’s always seemed really nice to me. Everyone loves him.”

Louis blinks in surprise. “Wait, you _know_ him?”

“Yeah, he’s in some of my classes. We study together sometimes. And he’s on the swim team, and I think I already mentioned that everyone loves him.”

“Oh,” Louis says. “So clearly he has a girlfriend and I was just some pity fuck.”

Harry shakes his head. “Stop being stupid. He’s not got a girlfriend.”

“That’s almost worse. _Harry_ ,” Louis whines.

“It’s not worse,” Harry says. “This means that you still have a chance.”

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis complains. “I don’t have a chance! He kicked me out into the cold like I was his dirty laundry.”

“That doesn’t even make sense. Anyway, you said he seemed nice before that. We can work with that. You can stalk his swim meets and happen to bump into him and casually befriend him as if you have no idea what sex with him is like.”

“That’ll never work.”

“Shut up, yes it will. Speaking of, by the way, how is sex with Liam? I’ve always vaguely wondered.”

“Ugh, I’m not telling you.”

“It was fucking awesome, wasn’t it? Else you wouldn’t be so hung up on him. I’ve changed my mind, you don’t need to tell me. My imagination’s better.”

“Ugh,” Louis repeats.

Harry laughs. “What do you say to a cuddle movie night? We haven’t had one in, what, a week? Much too long.”

“Yes, please,” Louis says, because he’s definitely not willing to let Harry out of his bed right now. Cuddling is ninety-nine percent of the solution to all his problems, he’s pretty sure.

And Harry’s right, a week without a cuddle movie night is way too long.

-

“This is a song from an indie band I’ve never heard of to put you to sleep. If you’re still awake after, I’m sure Grimmy will let you know what it was called,” Harry says into Nick’s microphone. Nick rolls his eyes and cues up the song. 

“Was that good?” Harry asks.

“It was lovely, Harry, I’m so glad I let you introduce that track. You know, if you didn’t spend all your time getting drunk and listening to Nicki Minaj, I bet you’d have better taste.”

Harry laughs. “My taste is flawless, thank you.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

“I will, thanks,” Harry says, then pauses for a moment before adding, “Can I tell you a secret?”

Nick looks up from where he’s quadruple checking the rest of night’s playlist. He thinks that Harry sounds more serious than Nick’s ever heard him, and they’ve been hanging out a lot since the party, mostly because Harry texts Nick incessantly asking him what he’s doing and then invites himself along everywhere. Including Nick’s work, apparently, but not his classes, which is a blessing, because if he was even half as much of a nuisance in class as he is while Nick’s on air, Nick would fail out of uni. 

“Yes, of course you can,” Nick says.

“I’ve been listening to your show since you started it,” Harry says, fiddling with the sleeves of his jumper and looking sheepish. “My parents live in the area.”

That was not what Nick was expecting to hear, though he doesn’t have a clue what he was expecting. “Oh,” he says dumbly. “Every single show for three years?” He quirks an eyebrow at Harry.

“No, I’m sure I’ve missed some,” Harry says. “But yeah, I mean, it was my go to thing to fall asleep to.”

“I put you to sleep? Aw, thanks, Harry.”

“Not like that, you tosser. Your voice is very soothing, that’s all, and you’re very charming and funny and I like you a lot.”

Nick blinks and abruptly realizes that the record is nearly finished and he has to be back on the air. He fumbles for his headphones and tries to remember how to do speaking. “All right, uh, that was Azure Ray with Safe and Sound, introduced by first year Harry Styles, who’s going to be our guest next Thursday night for the monthly in studio live artist, isn’t that exciting?” He catches sight of Harry moving out of the corner of his eye and preemptively grabs onto the mic so that Harry can’t move it away from his face. “You might know him from open mic night, but if you don’t, you’re in for a treat. Next up we have some lively pop music, because if Azure Ray didn’t put you to sleep, you probably didn’t want it to.”

He sets it to play the live artist jingle he’d made up for November (while half drunk on his couch, with Harry poking at the sound effects and complaining that he sounded dumb) and then two pop songs in a row before pushing his headphones back off his ears and grinning over at Harry. Harry smiles lazily back, lips curling up in slow motion, and God _damn_ , Nick wants to kiss his dimples.

“You like me, hm? A lot?” 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Harry says. “Your hair already makes it look big enough.”

“Don’t be hating the quiff,” Nick says, trying to sound serious, but he can’t stop smiling and Harry only smiles wider, so he’s pretty sure he fails.

-

The seats are digging into Louis’s ass, it’s weirdly hot and humid and he’s regretting wearing a coat, and every noise bounces off the walls and becomes three times louder, which makes for a very loud swim meet indeed, but it’s all worth it, in Louis’s opinion, because Liam is _pretty much_ naked and also dripping wet. He’s gorgeous, and Louis is here to appreciate that gorgeousness. And also to get it to talk to him and fall in love with him and let him have its babies.

So no big expectations, really, it’s cool.

Liam kicks ass in all his events, of which there are a fair few, and Louis spends the entire length of his last one working up the resolve to go congratulate him when he inevitably wins like the bunch of girls that are sitting in front of him are planning to do. It takes him about two minutes after standing and following them to talk himself out of it again, and by the time he turns to head for the exit instead, he’s trapped in a sea of people either going to talk to all the swimmers or also trying to leave.

Louis is going to _kill_ Harry. He knew this wasn’t a good idea. What if--

“Whoa, you okay there?”

\--that happens. Louis’s just stumbled in the crowd a bit and been pushed up against someone, and he knows that if he looks up, he’s going to see Liam standing there, possibly looking at him with concern, or, more likely, confusion and possibly terror.

“M’fine,” Louis mutters, and tries desperately to push his way through the crowd.

A hand wraps around his forearm, holding him where he is. “Wait, Louis? What are you doing here?”

Louis gives up and turns to actually look at Liam. “I like swimming,” he says. “Interesting to watch, y’know.”

Liam does not look like he’s falling for a word of that, and Louis doesn’t blame him at all. “Oh, cool. You busy now?”

A multitude of reasons why Liam could be asking that flash through Louis’s head, from intending to shoot a scathing comment after Louis’s answer to wondering if he can get some quickie sex in the locker room, which, no, Louis is not that kind of boy, that won’t be happening. “I’m not, no,” he says carefully.

“Cool, me and the lads were going to go out for dinner and drinks in a bit. You want to come with?”

Liam officially makes no sense to Louis at all. If he’s interested in hanging out with Louis, why the fuck did he reject his number? Does he just like to be an asshole every so often for laughs? 

Still, Louis is hardly going to say _no_.

-

Louis is sitting in the coffee shop he likes to come to when he needs a break from how obnoxiously loud the frat house can get, working on his homework and wishing there had been a table free that wasn’t near the window, because he’s freezing, when someone pokes at his shoulder. 

He looks up to see Liam smiling at him. He’s got a knit scarf wrapped around his neck and tucked carefully up by his chin, the hood of his sweatshirt up, and he looks adorable. Louis blinks. “Uh, hi.”

“Hey,” Liam says. “I was just getting some coffee before class. Want a napkin?” He holds one out to Louis, and Louis takes it hesitantly.

“Yeah, sure.” He must have something on his face if Liam’s come over here just to give him a napkin, right? Fuck, that’s embarrassing.

“See you around, Louis,” Liam says, waving, and turns to leave.

Louis stares after him a moment, then wipes at his face with the napkin before looking at it. Louis stares. Liam’s written what is presumably his number on it in black permanent marker, complete with his name and a smiley face. He immediately looks back up at where Liam had been, but he’s already gone. Louis goes back to staring at his number.

If he thought he was confused about Liam inviting him out the other night, that was nothing compared to how confused he is now. All of a sudden Liam is cool with giving him his number? No explanations necessary, just swanning off into the distance? What the actual fuck.

Even so, Louis adds Liam into his phone book and tries to go back to doing his homework.

If he’s too distracted by thinking about what to text Liam first to concentrate, well, only he has to know.

-

“You’ve got a text,” Harry informs Louis from where he’s lying on the floor ignoring the work on his laptop. (He claims lying on the floor to write essays gets him in the right headspace, but Louis is pretty sure he just naps most of the time.) “From _Liam_.”

“Gimme my mobile,” Louis says, sticking out his hand. He’s sitting at his desk _actually_ doing work, because he is older and infinitely more responsible. Harry puts Louis’s mobile in his hand and Louis unlocks it and reads the text.

_Hey suppp? Wanna go for ice creamm? :)_

“He’s asked you on an ice cream date,” Harry says. “When are you planning to pop the question?”

“We’re not dating,” Louis says, biting his lip and tapping out a response. “I’m pretty sure he still hates me and only hangs out with me because he pities the way I became his stalker.”

_Yeah sure ! Same place as last time?_

“Yes, you are. Haven’t you been out for ice cream with him before? He’s definitely not hanging out with you out of pity. Pity hanging out doesn’t need to happen this often. I’m starting to feel neglected, actually. Even when I study with Liam, all he does is talk about you.”

“No, he doesn’t, and no, you’re not. If _I’m_ dating Liam, you’re definitely married to Nick. Does it physically hurt you to be away from him?”

“We’ve been prepping for my appearance on his show!” Harry protests. 

“By getting drunk and making fun of crap telly?” Louis asks.

Harry pouts. “That was once.”

“No, it was like five times in the past week.” Louis’s phone lights up in his hand.

_Yepppp see you in ten._

“I gotta go, Hazza,” Louis says, standing. “You going to actually do some work or are you going to call Nick and flirt with him because it’s been ten minutes since you last poked fun at him?”

“I’m offended, Lou. I just texted Nick a very scathing comment about his taste in fashion, and now I’m going to write a truly brilliant essay about the cultural significance of pop music.”

“Right,” Louis says. “Have fun.”

“Try snogging him this time!” Harry calls after him. “Since he’s your boyfriend and all.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Louis mutters to himself, and totally doesn’t wish he was lying.

-

Harry shifts from foot to foot, fiddling with a curl that keeps falling in front of his eyes and staring downward. There are a lot more people at the radio station than there have been when he’s been there before, Nick realises, and on top of that, it’s probably freaking him out that so many people could be listening to him sing on the radio. 

“Hey, relax,” Nick says. “You need anything? Water, maybe?”

Harry shakes his head, then pauses and nods. “Yeah, water would be good.”

“I’ll be right back.” Nick runs out to the vending machine and waits impatiently while it takes forever to give him a bottle of water, briefly considering how his life has gone from ogling Harry in this hallway to actually getting water _for_ Harry before he runs back.

“Thanks,” Harry says, taking the bottle from Nick and unscrewing the cap. He barely drinks any of it, though, just sipping on it instead. 

“It’s just like that performance you put on in my living room the other night,” Nick tries. “Nothing to get worked up over.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Harry says. “I’m not totally plastered, for one thing.” He looks a bit less nervous, though, so Nick counts it as a win. 

“You sounded lovely then, you’ll sound lovely now. Or in a few minutes,” he amends, checking the clock. “And stop playing with your hair.” He steps forward into Harry’s space and bats his hand away, taking the wayward curl and tucking it back underneath his headphones neatly. 

“‘ey, Grimmy, you’re on in a moment, get ready,” Niall calls from the doorway, and Nick is suddenly extremely aware of how close to Harry’s face his own face is. He jerks back and flashes an a-okay signal to Niall, who disappears again, probably to go tell Annie that Nick’s ready. 

Nick busies himself getting the right things all connected, running over to kick the door shut because Niall _always_ leaves the doors open, and stands next to Harry to watch the on air light to come on, wishing the way he does every single month that this room had chairs, because it could really use them.

“...the live artist feature with Nick Grimshaw. Hi there, Nick, what gem have you found for us this month?”

“Hello, Annie. I’ve not found so much a gem as a jewel, to be honest. Wait, is a jewel better than a gem or are they the same?”

“I think they’re the same,” Annie says dryly.

“Well, whatever. I’m here with Harry Styles. Say hello, Harry.”

“Hello,” Harry says, biting his lip straight afterward. 

Nick rolls his eyes and pokes Harry’s side. “Tell us about yourself, Harry Styles. What year are you in? What are you studying?”

“I’m a first year studying music.”

“Oh yeah, and how’s that?”

“I really like it,” Harry says. “I was, um, originally going to do a bunch of business things and that, but then I auditioned for The X Factor.”

“Oh, that’s very cool.”

“Yeah, and even though I didn’t get through to the live shows or anything, it really, uh, helped me realise that I wanted to pursue music however I could.”

“Good, very good,” Nick says. “And you’re going to sing for us tonight! Thank you for agreeing to do this, I know your schedule as an Alpha Sigma Phi pledge is really busy.”

Harry laughs. “Oh, yeah, I had to really try to rearrange some stuff to find the time. Not to mention the lads poking fun at me for being on ‘that crap indie show’.”

Nick bursts out laughing. “Wow, what a bunch of top notch lads. Real talk, thank you, Harry.”

Harry suddenly looks very serious. “They are top notch. I know we’ve got a reputation, but I’ve made some really great friends--or brothers, really, I guess. That’s really what we’re about. Pledging Alpha Sig was a really great decision, so, um, shout out to them. They’re probably listening because I’m on.”

“Have they sat through the whole show?” Nick asks in surprise. “Should I apologise for the crap indie music?”

Harry snorts. “They probably have, yeah, but you definitely don’t need to apologise. They can deal.”

“Good to hear,” Nick says solemnly. He feels a certain sort of respect for Harry’s frat brothers now, and it’s an extremely odd feeling. Harry snickers. “What are you going to sing for us, Harry?”

“Uh, some Elton John. Daniel, it’s called.”

“Oh, _Elton_ ,” Nick says. “Speaks to my soul, he does. Are you ready to do the same, Harry?”

“Yeah, I reckon so,” Harry says, shooting a smile in Nick’s direction.

“All right. This, lovely listeners, is our uni’s own Harry Styles, coming to you live from the studio.”

Nick shuts off his mic and steps back, cuing up Harry’s backing track. 

Harry _does_ speak to Nick’s soul, all closed eyes and snapping fingers at his side, swaying a bit, and his voice perfectly clear, wrapping around the lyrics and spinning them into dark chocolate sugar in that way he has. Nick actually has to turn away at one point because he thinks he might tear up. There’s way too much emotion in the room for Nick to handle, and then when he turns back, Harry’s got his eyes open again and is looking at Nick, and Nick feels as if he’s literally melting from the inside out. It’s surreal, because that usually only happens when he discovers that perfect record that speaks exactly to his heart and then listens to it on repeat lying on his bedroom floor for hours. 

Nick almost forgets to turn his mic back on when Harry’s finished, but a panicked look from Harry reminds him. “Wow. That was... if you’re not extremely moved right now, I’m not sure I’d like to be friends with you. You can text us here at the station and tell us what you thought of Harry Styles. Thank you, Harry, for that.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry says, staring at Nick, and Nick gets so caught up in staring back that he doesn’t say anything for a moment before he realises that he’s just letting the airwaves be silent.

“Whoops, sorry, I think I’ve just had a bit of a moment with Harry. I’ll send you all back to Annie now. What did you think of that, Annie?”

“You’ll be glad to hear that I was moved, Grimmy, so we can still be friends.”

Nick laughs. “Oh, that’s good. Are we getting nice texts so far?”

“Yes, actually, quite a few of them! I’ll play a record and you two can get in here so we can read a few of them out, yeah?”

“That sounds _wonderful_ , Annie, see you in a bit.”

The on air sign goes dark and Nick slips off his headphones, turning to Harry. “You can’t come on again,” he says mock seriously. “You make me a horrible DJ who goes silent and leaves everyone to fend for themselves.”

Harry has already taken his own headphones off and is smiling at Nick. Nick never wants him to stop doing that, really. He could live in Harry’s smile. “Was I good, then?”

“Please shut up and stop asking stupid questions.”

Harry laughs, and then Nick suddenly finds himself with an armful of Harry, arms thrown around him and face pressed into the side of his neck. Nick flails a bit and then hugs back. “Thanks,” Harry murmurs into Nick’s ear before pulling back, and Nick nods dumbly.

“You’re welcome. You want to go hear multitudes of compliments from adoring new fans now?”

“Lead the way,” Harry says, gesturing grandly toward the door, and Nick does.

-

Harry and Nick decide, after the show has signed off the air, that the only thing to do to celebrate Harry’s stunning performance is go out to a club and get trashed, which somehow turns to buying bottles of terrible cheap wine at a twenty-four hour corner shop and wandering around the city drinking them instead.

Harry trips over seemingly nothing on the pavement and catches himself on Nick’s arm, giggling. His cheeks are flushed pink and his hair is starting to do that thing Nick loves where it loses all semblance of control and flies everywhere. “I can’t believe he said I was terrible and should have sung Call Me Maybe,” Harry says into Nick’s shoulder, and then bursts into laughter. Nick laughs, too, because Harry is infectious and the text Louis had sent in _is_ hilarious, besides.

“Why haven’t I met him yet?” Nick asks. “I think I’d like him.”

“You would,” Harry is quick to say. “You two were practically made for each other, you’re both so fucking _bitchy_.” He dissolves into laughter again. “But he’s so gone for Liam, so whatever.” His hand slips down from where it’s been wrapped around Nick’s bicep, fingertips trailing down the inside of Nick’s wrist and slipping in between Nick’s fingers. Nick’s heart skips a beat and he forgets how to walk, coming to a complete standstill on the pavement and bringing Harry up short.

Nick looks down at where their hands are entangled, then up to Harry’s face. He’s got one eyebrow raised and he looks so fucking _cheeky_. Nick looks around--they’re on a dark street corner in as close to the middle of nowhere as you can be while still in a city--and then tugs Harry toward him, slipping the thumb of his other hand into one of Harry’s belt loops. He’s lost his wine bottle somewhere (did he finish it? he can’t remember), but it doesn’t really seem to matter.

Harry rests his forehead against Nick’s. “Hi,” he says, voice low and thick, and Nick is momentarily distracted by the way his eyelashes spread across his cheek.

“Hey,” he replies, and then the next thing he knows he’s kissing Harry, bringing his hand up to tangle in his hair and stumbling together until Harry’s pressed against a streetlamp, body pliant underneath Nick’s. His lips are soft and inviting and it feels normal, like they’ve been doing this for years and will continue to do it for years.

It might actually be a year, for all Nick knows, before they break apart, out of breath. Harry’s flushed even pinker than he had been before, his lips shiny and well on their way to kiss swollen. He’s smiling a bit, his dimples clearly showing, and Nick wants to positively wreck him, pull him apart and stitch him back together just to see what he’d look after he’s been entirely claimed by Nick. 

“That was nice,” Nick manages to say. Harry rolls his eyes and pulls Nick back in for more.

 

iv | _keepin’ it surreal, not sugar free_

 

Louis shifts, entirely unsubtle, because he abandoned subtlety within the first week of hanging out with Liam, so that he’s pressed entirely up against Liam on the couch, and then, just for good measure, throws his leg over Liam’s lap. 

Liam, predictably, doesn’t react. Louis sighs to himself. 

“There, stop,” Liam says suddenly. Niall stops flipping through channels. “I love this film, we have to watch it.”

Louis squints at the screen. “Is that Toy Story?”

“Yep,” Niall confirms, putting down the clicker.

“I’m going to make popcorn,” Liam says, nudging Louis’s leg off him so that he can stand. “You guys want anything else?”

Louis shakes his head and Niall stipulates that Liam better be making a lot of popcorn, which makes Liam roll his eyes and tell him that he’s not stupid. 

“Not stupid, he says,” Louis scoffs when Liam’s left. “I disagree.”

“Why’s that?” Niall asks.

Louis sighs dramatically. “Did you see the way I was throwing myself at him? I do that _all the time_ and he never even bats an eyelash.”

Niall snorts. “He can be a bit thick, our Liam. You were definitely all over him.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Then again,” Niall muses, “you’re rather friendly with everyone. Maybe he thinks it’s just that?”

Louis makes a frustrated noise. “How much more obvious do I have to _be_?”

Niall shrugs. “Maybe you should just tell him straight up that you want exclusive on tap shagging to be a thing you do? With each other, mind, you’ll want to be nice and specific.”

“Yeah, or else he’ll think I mean with you or something,” Louis says, rolling his eyes.

Niall laughs. “Yeah, no, I’m taken, mate.”

Louis perks up, looking over at Niall in surprise. “Are you dating someone? Who?”

Niall turns red. “Uh, no one. I meant, uh, my bed and I have a very... intimate relationship.”

Louis frowns. “Right,” he says, drawing out the vowel. “Okay then.”

“Stop talking and watch the film,” Niall demands, and Louis throws up his hands in surrender and obeys.

-

Zayn pokes at a chip on his plate with another chip and tries to tune back into what Niall is saying between (and far too often during) mouthfuls of his burger. Something about Louis and Liam, Zayn is pretty sure, because Niall’s just come to meet Zayn for lunch after Zayn’s class and before Niall’s, and he’d been hanging out with them before this. 

“So then Louis literally starts _biting_ at Liam’s neck in the middle of the film, and I swear I thought that was going to be it, I mean, Liam can’t ignore that, right? But no, he just keeps eating popcorn and shooting fond grins at Louis. I don’t understand. Do you understand, Zayn, because I do not understand.”

“Makes no sense,” Zayn says absently, staring somewhere between Niall’s collarbone and his jawline. He has a nice jawline, Zayn thinks. He’d be interesting to draw, with all his changing angles and constantly laughing eyes. (Since when does Zayn think about Niall’s eyes? Whatever.)

“I know!” Niall continues. “I told Louis that he had to tell Liam seriously that he wants to date or whatever, because that seemed like the right kind of advice, yeah? But I didn’t realise it was that bad. Until the biting. _Biting_ , Zayn. I felt like I was intruding on some sort of private thing, except how Liam was being totally chill and watching Toy Story.” Niall pauses to take a sip of his drink. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “Of course I am, Nialler.” He’s lying, of course, he’s actually way more preoccupied with making up a palette of colours that would fit a painting of Niall, but Niall doesn’t need to know that. 

“Do you think we should do something?” Niall asks speculatively, sitting back in his seat. “I think this is the point in a film where the friends would lock the couple in a closet until they fucked it out.”

“Mmm, maybe not,” Zayn says. Is that Niall’s _foot_ tapping against his? Is Niall suddenly flirting with him? Does he want Niall to flirt with him? He knows Niall is objectively attractive, that’s what the whole wanting to draw him thing is about, but maybe it’s actually subjective? And did Niall just say that Liam and Louis are fucking? Good for them, but not Zayn’s idea of good lunchtime conversation.

“Zayn?”

“Huh? What?”

“Are you ready to go?”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m good.” 

“Great,” Niall says, standing. “Walk me to class?”

“Sure thing.”

-

So, the thing is, Nick isn’t a very confident person in general. Sure, he’s good at talking on the radio, at making guests feel comfortable, and at making friends wherever he goes, but it’s all a very carefully honed craft. He thinks that maybe sometime in the future all his faked confidence will grow to be real, but right now it’s a very thin shell holding together a nervous wreck of a person.

Which is why even though Harry said he liked Nick a lot and also made out with him a bit and then texted him to ask if he wanted to go out for dinner, Nick’s still not sure if Harry really wants to date and have sex and things or if he just wants to be mates who drunkenly make out sometimes.

Nick would like to think he’d be okay as mates who drunkenly make out sometimes, but he knows that he really wouldn’t, actually, because he _really likes_ Harry, in the kind of way that makes him feel about fourteen years old. 

“So, I had a lovely time tonight,” Harry says, leaning against the doorframe outside Nick’s flat. 

“Um, yeah, me too,” Nick says, staring at Harry. “Can I ask you something?”

Harry gestures for Nick to continue.

“Right, uh. Was this a date? Or are we still just friends?”

Harry’s eyes widen. “Oh my God, you _wanker_. Is that why you’ve been acting weird all night?”

“Uh--”

“Oh my _God_. Unlock that door and get inside, Nick Grimshaw, we need to have a talk.”

Nick listens, because Harry looks kind of terrifying, and as soon as he’s got the door to his flat closed behind them, Harry pushes him up against it and kisses him. “God, you’re stupid,” Harry says when he pulls away. “All humble and hiding behind your dumb sky high hair. Are you listening? I _really_ like you, Grimmy. I asked you out to dinner like a proper date and now I am going to get you naked in your bed and have sex with you, and after that we can call each other boyfriends or whatever you want, okay? Got it?”

“Sex?” Nick says, because he got a bit stuck at that part. 

Harry laughs and kisses him. “Yeah, sex.”

“Got it,” Nick mumbles, and kisses Harry again, pushing him in the direction of Nick’s bedroom. Harry goes willingly, yanking articles of clothing off himself and Nick as they go, leaving a trail of clothes as if they’re in a stupid romantic comedy. 

Harry lets Nick press him down onto the bed and suck a mark into his neck before rolling them over so he can kiss his way down Nick’s chest, biting at the elastic of Nick’s boxers before pulling them off. Nick groans and covers his face.

“Hey, look at me,” Harry says, breathing warm air over Nick’s cock, and Nick moves the hand over his eyes in time to see Harry’s lips close over the head of his dick. Harry licks his way down, taking more and more of Nick into his mouth, and Nick whimpers as Harry starts to really suck, hollowing out his cheeks and working up a rhythm.

“Jesus Christ, Harry,” Nick chokes out, and Harry hums, making Nick moan and buck his hips up. Harry immediately grabs at his hips, pressing down and digging in his fingernails. “Sorry, sorry,” Nick says. “God, Harry, you look so good like that.” He’s vaguely aware that he keeps talking, blurting out things that no doubt sound stupid and are probably at least fifty percent metaphors comparing Harry to music, but he can’t stop. He feels like stars are crashing down on him, burning out just beneath his skin, and his orgasm catches him off guard, exploding in a flash of white supernova behind his eyelids. 

When he comes back to himself, Harry is next to him, kissing lightly at the skin just beneath his ear, and Nick smiles, running his thumb along Harry’s cheekbone, and then pushes him to the side. “My turn,” he says, and when Harry smiles at him, Nick has no problem believing that he can control the stars.

 

v | _so take your tiny chemicals, ‘cause i need a miracle_

 

Louis is lying on his bed, trying to do a reading for class but mostly just feeling sorry for himself, when there’s a knock at his door. He considers, for a moment, just ignoring it, but his textbook is boring enough that he can’t resist pushing it away and going to see who it is.

He really should have predicted this outcome. Liam is standing awkwardly in the hallway, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. “Hey,” he says. “Have you been ignoring my texts?”

“No,” Louis says automatically, though he actually has, because he’d been considering following Niall’s advice and just talking to Liam, but whenever he thought about it his heart would start to race and his palms got all sweaty, and it was suddenly not just good enough to hang out with Liam and ignore how much he wanted to fuck him, so he started avoiding Liam completely instead.

Liam takes Louis’s answer in stride. “Okay. Can I come in? What are you up to?”

“What are you doing here?” Louis blurts out. “And who let you in?”

Liam looks confused. “Uh, seeing if you’re ignoring me? Some bloke let me in, he knew who I was. Aren’t we mates? Can’t we hang out without a reason?”

Louis suddenly feels extremely, possibly irrationally, angry. “Well, Liam Payne, I might not be ignoring you, but if I were, I’d certainly have a good reason to be.”

“Uh, okay? Do--”

“No, shut up. I fucking hate you, what the fuck. We can’t just be mates after you act like an asshole to me. What’s wrong with me that you didn’t want my number, anyway? And if you didn’t want my number, why did you bother ever speaking to me again? You definitely didn’t need to, that was your choice. Fuck, Liam, you can’t just take a lad’s virginity and then pretend it’s all well and good, we’re best mates now!”

Liam is staring at him now, eyes wide. “Louis,” he says, voice all serious and apologetic sounding. Louis hates it.

“No. Fuck off, Liam,” Louis says, and slams his door in Liam’s face. 

It feels good for about five glorious seconds before tears well up in Louis’s eyes.

-

“Hey, Zayn, do you know where Niall is?” Liam asks, leaning into the room. 

Zayn looks up from where he’s been sketching sitting on his bed. “Yeah, radio station. He picked up an extra shift. Why, what’s up?”

Liam shrugs. “Just needed someone to talk to, I guess.”

“Well, you can talk to me, if you like,” Zayn offers. “I’m not Niall, but I could pretend.”

Liam snorts, but he does come in and sit down next to Zayn on his bed. When he doesn’t say anything, Zayn prompts him with “Is this anything to do with Louis?”

Liam sighs. “Yes. I got the feeling he was ignoring me, so I went to see him just now, and he yelled at me and slammed the door in my face.”

“Whoa,” Zayn says, putting down his sketchpad. “Literally slammed?”

“In my face, yeah,” Liam says. 

“Whoa,” he repeats. “What did you _do_?”

“Was an asshole, I guess.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “ _You_ were an asshole?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, fidgeting with Zayn’s duvet. “We slept together at that party at the end of October, and then when he asked if I wanted to exchange numbers in the morning, I said no.”

“You said _no_? Why the fuck would you do that? Even if you didn’t want to call him, you could have just taken his number for the hell of it.”

Liam groans. “I panicked! He was really nice and we had really great sex--”

“Ew.”

“--but I promised myself I wasn’t going to get into a relationship that would distract me this year, and I could see myself falling into one with him so easily. It scared me.”

Zayn frowns. “Wait, aren’t you guys dating? Or, well, weren’t you before he slammed a door in your face?”

Liam shakes his head. “No, where did you get that idea?”

“Uh, nowhere, I guess. So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t _know_. I think I’m willing to forget my promise to myself for him, to be honest, but now I feel like even more of an asshole than I did before.”

“Before what?”

Liam’s cheeks flush a bit pink. “I think he told me I was his first. He was yelling kind of loud and fast, but I’m pretty sure that’s what he said.”

Zayn blinks. “You’re screwed, Payne,” he says.

Liam sighs. “Yeah, see, this is why I wanted to talk to Niall. At least he tries to give advice.”

“I can only be so good of an actor,” Zayn says. “Would a hug help?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Liam says, turning into Zayn’s spread arms and hugging him, face pressed into his shoulder. “Thanks for listening.”

“Not a problem,” Zayn says, patting Liam’s shoulder as he pulls away. 

“I’ve got to go meet Harry to study now, I guess,” Liam says, standing to leave.

“He’s friends with Louis, right? Why don’t you ask him for advice? That’s my advice. Ask someone else.” Zayn grins wryly at Liam and picks up his sketchpad again.

“Yeah, maybe,” Liam says. “Don’t really want to make him feel awkward or anything.”

“Whatever, mate.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

-

Nick is testing Niall’s knowledge of the control board and laughing internally at the way Niall’s face screws up when he’s thinking really hard when Harry strolls into the radio station like he belongs there, trailed by a nervous looking lad that Nick assumes is Liam.

“We need your help,” Harry declares.

“With what? I thought you were going to do a late night study?”

“Yeah, with Liam, but he was all distracted and I made him tell me what was bugging him. Turns out Louis and Liam have both been a bit stupid, though Liam more so, so Liam needs to apologise to Louis,” Harry explains. 

Nick nods. “Uh huh, and what does that have to do with needing my help?”

Harry grins. “I have a plan.”

-

“This is late night radio at your university with Liam Payne. I’m going to be manning the airwaves for the first fifteen minutes of the show, and then I’ll turn you back over to Nick Grimshaw, who I’m sure you’ll miss by then, because he actually knows what he’s doing, and I do not. Let’s have a little Florence to start us off, yeah?”

Louis stares at his radio in confusion and pulls out his phone to text Harry. 

_Aren’t you studying with Liam?_

The response is immediate and does nothing to clear up Louis’s confusion. 

_Change of plans. Don’t turn off the radio!!_

He texts back _???????_ but Harry doesn’t respond. Louis hadn’t really been expecting him to, really, but it would have been nice, because Louis really fucking wants to know what Liam’s doing on the radio.

Louis sits for a torturous ten minutes just staring off into the middle distance as if the answers are all written there, listening to Liam link records together without an explanation. And then, _finally:_

“Okay, so, my fifteen minutes are nearly up, and you’re probably wondering who I am and what I’m doing here. Or you don’t care, that’s cool, too. But, uh, Liam Payne, swim team, member of TKE, and colossal jerk at your service. You see, there’s this guy, and I’ve really messed things up with him. So, thanks to some wonderful mates, I’m here to apologise to him live on air. So, uh, Louis, this next’s track for you. I’m sorry.”

Louis stares. He’s really not sure if that was the sweetest thing someone’s ever done for him or if he hates it and thinks it’s stupid. Maybe both. Also, is this Take That?

 _Is this take that?_ he texts to Liam. 

_Yesss Im sorryyyy . Harry said it was a good idea ?_

Louis barks out an involuntary laugh. _Did you mean it?_

_Yes!!!!_

_You’re not forgiven :) more grovelling required !_

_:( can i come overrrrrr ? Harrys staying at nicks._

Louis bites his lip to keep from grinning. _Sure yeah. Need to get started on the rest of your apology_

_??_

_See you in 10 !_

-

Zayn pokes at Niall’s thigh. “Aren’t they sickening?” he asks, gesturing to where Harry and Nick are curled up on one end of the couch, Harry in Nick’s lap and Nick idly playing with his hair, and Liam and Louis are on the other end, pressed up against each other with Louis’s legs in Liam’s lap, sneaking glances at each other and smiling every couple minutes. Niall and Zayn are sitting on the floor, leaning against an armchair, and are probably the only ones actually watching the film they’d all argued over earlier.

“Makes me want to puke,” Niall agrees around a mouthful of crisps. “Promise me we’ll never succumb to such disgusting love.”

“Of course not,” Zayn scoffs. “Can I have some of those?”

Niall holds the bag out to Zayn.

-

_ fin. _


End file.
